


Telling stories

by Beezarre



Category: Holby City
Genre: Berena Secret Santa 2019, Cameron Dunn Cam-eo, F/F, lots of sad memories as a result but a little fluff peppered through, mention of loads of people some of whom are canonically dead, pre-canon-wedding-break-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21900316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beezarre/pseuds/Beezarre
Summary: Family pictures and memories get unearthed after one misconception too many. Bernie is a bedtime story teller after all, but this time there are no knights or princesses, the treasure hidden within is the past they didn’t get to share, and the future they will. Pre-wedding-break-up, just our two favourite surgeons taking trips down memory lane.
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41
Collections: Berena Secret Santa 2019





	Telling stories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iordio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iordio/gifts).



> This is the Berena Secret Santa gift for Iordio, whose prompt was ‘Do not mention Christmas’, so… Happy Winter!  
> (This fic contains loads of impromptu family headcanons. I hope you’ll like them!)
> 
> My thanks to Batnbreakfast and Daisydoctor13 for their support <3
> 
> Word of warning: Someone has been slicing raw onions very thinly, and has strewn them all over this fic. Your eyes may water… (Seriously, now is time for a warm beverage of your choice and/or a friendly pet to cuddle!)

The Paediatric Ward had called for help. Bernie had answered, her son not far behind her. It had been an emergency after all!

There had been no one available for Story Time, which was something all the patients, but especially the younger ones, always looked forward to. Luckily, both Wolfes had reached the end of their shift. They’d taken the time to change so the kids would see more than just doctors sitting there as a last minute replacement. Cameron seemed to remember his placement there rather fondly, and even recognised a few faces amongst the patients. Whether that was good or bad news depended on the patient and their diagnosis.

They’d sat where the usual people did, the book between them, holding it so they could read comfortably, and fell into a rhythm. It wasn’t about doing the voices, although they did, it was about telling the story, about the pace, about pausing to look up at the right time to meet small weary eyes, about making them twinkle with smiles. They had the time, took more time than usual until some patients were nudged back to their room to rest or receive treatment. There was no applause, no cheering, but the smiles meant everything.

“I liked the bit with the dragon!” The little girl who had spoken was missing a front tooth and wearing a colourful cap. She waved at them as a nurse wheeled her back to her room, Cameron and Bernie sharing a smile.

“Thanks for doing this with me.” Cameron sounded almost shy. Bernie had a feeling he had done it before, wondered how much time he’d spent there, reading, knowing there would be new faces every time and lost lives in the spaces between the patients. Why had he never mentioned it?

“I’ve always loved reading stories.” Bernie had to admit she had a collection of fond memories. They shared another smile.

“I remember.” He did. She’d been good at it, better than his father, which wasn’t that hard to achieve. Back then she’d made him want to read for himself. They’d read together, word for word, until he could read alone. She’d done the same with Charlotte, the age difference meaning that even if they shared the same childhood stories, they never shared that time with anyone else but their mother. 

Cameron remembered family trips to the library, often without Marcus. He did remember being hard to manage, but he remembered, too, that his mother had never taken away his books when he’d been sent to his room to calm down. Reading was contagious, and that was an illness he was glad to have been exposed to. Neither of them really took the time to read anything that wasn’t work related anymore, and both regretted it.

  
❄❄❄

“How did it go?” 

The text Serena had sent had said to meet her in the hallway on her way out. Bernie found her there, wrapped in her usual red coat, smiling.

“Well, actually.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d connected with either of her kids like she had earlier, not even with Cameron beside her in theatre. Earlier, with the children, they were on equal footing, sharing something they hadn’t in years.

“I didn’t take you for a story reader!”

Serena’s off-hand remark made Bernie stop in her tracks. There had been swings, and many other things, she’d let them pass, squared her jaw, blamed them on Jason without really blaming him as he didn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle as far as her family went. But Serena knew better. Bernie and her children might have been estranged at the start of her relationship with Serena, and they might not have been close for many years before that, between her tours and their growing up and becoming their own people, but she had never been anything but deeply protective of them. 

She had taught them everything she’d been taught as a child, and everything she wished she had. They’d done trips to the beach, to the woods, tried rock climbing, with various degrees of success, speleology, children’s nights at anything in a reasonable radius, and even back then Holby had had quite a lot to offer to curious kids and parents alike. She’d done as much as she could, juggling shifts, working overtime, making sure her family was her priority even as her work required her to be available at all times. And her muscles ached just remembering either, if not both, of her children on swings, relentless in their glee and newfound understanding of what they would later learn to call gravity.

“I’m a story reader, I’m a swing pusher, I’m a puzzle helper, I’m a sandcastle builder,” what else had Serena been surprised about lately?, “oh, and I’m a bike riding teacher, too.” She huffed. “I’m a mother, just because my kids have grown up and away from me doesn’t mean I don’t treasure those times or forget how it’s done.” She paused. “I get that you want first dibs on pretty much everything regarding Guinevere when it comes to having time with her, but I’m not nearly as useless as you, or Jason, seem to think I am.” 

She started walking, not wanting to face Serena just yet. She wanted to keep that memory of her son beside her, their voices intertwined to work on hearts and minds, damaged much like the bodies on their operating table. She remembered the smiles, the fleeting semblance of hope the story had carried. 

She couldn’t hear steps behind her, wondered if this would escalate in a proper argument later, or even right there on the parking lot. She wouldn’t budge, though. She was more than a woman and a surgeon, more than a lover and a doctor, she was a mother and just because she wasn’t as effusive as Serena could be didn’t mean she cared any less for her kids. She was protective of her family at large, that meant Serena’s family too. She was more than a presence in the background, or at least wanted to be, hoped she’d one day be given her place there. 

She opened her car door, left it open and sat down, waiting. This was a calm before a storm, even the sky seemed to agree. She finally sighted the red silhouette and took a deep breath. Serena looked sad, but not angry.

“I’m sorry.” Of anything Bernie had expected, this hadn’t made the cut. “Just because I won’t, can’t, share my early memories of Ellie yet doesn’t mean you can’t tell me about your two.”

“It’s not about this, Serena.” It wasn’t. She couldn’t hold that against her, never tried to pry either. “We’ve had many lives before this one, as children, teens, students, and whatnot. We’re both puzzles, and sometimes…” Bernie looked away, sighing. “Sometimes I’m not sure you can really see the bigger picture.” She looked at her again, expecting the hurt in Serena’s eyes. “I’m more than a Big Macho Army Medic. I’m… I’m more than you give me credit for, sometimes.”

“Okay.” Serena had looked down, at nothing in particular. “Okay!” She looked up again, a hint of challenge in the way she held herself. “But I can’t do that if you don’t talk.”

That was often the problem, talking. Bernie had been ready to simply relinquish her much treasured photo albums, answering questions as needed. There was that ridiculous dress she’d been made to wear for her sixth birthday, and the time Charlotte had insisted on going trick or treating dressed as the little mermaid, and Cameron’s early teenage obsession with Pokémons, how she’d had to resew most of her wedding dress less than half an hour before the ceremony and had to undo half of her work just to get out of it, and so many more…

Somehow her stories had never found their place in their relationship, a long list of missed opportunities. But her being a mother? That Serena had known from the very start. She sighed. No relationship was perfect, but blaming the failing of theirs on her lacking communication skills was a little too easy sometimes.

Maybe she should go back to basics. Bedtime stories, from her own book. She offered the idea, it was met with a raised eyebrow and a smile. The sky had cleared, for now.

  
❄❄❄

That evening, as she exited the en suite, Bernie casually threw a picture on the bed. She hadn’t practised her aim, and it didn’t land anywhere near Serena and, all the more helpfully, face down. Groaning, she grabbed it again and held it in front of her like a child holding a brand new crayon drawing for parental inspection. Serena looked up from the book she’d been attempted to read, a gift from Jason she wasn’t sure she’d ever reach the end of, but she wanted to at least try, and melted on the spot. Her hot flushes had meant that ever since Bernie’s return from warmer climates they’d had to have arguments and agreements on bed covers, but in this case the melting had less to do with hormones and more to do with the utter cuteness of the picture Bernie was showing her.

“I suppose I’d rather not tell Cameron you showed me this?”

“Cameron? Cam you can. Lottie will never forgive me. She still hasn’t forgiven me for that pink flower headband that featured on half her baby pictures. Not my choice I’m afraid. Marcus’ mother was very intent on colour coding, just in case I could possibly forget which of my kids was which, you know.” Bernie rolled her eyes. 

Serena reached forward, Bernie releasing her grasp on the picture. Serena inspected it more closely. Cameron was very young, holding his brand new sister close, looking at her with protective puppy eyes, both of them burrowed against a younger Bernie’s side who was looking at them adoringly. She looked exhausted, the c-section explained that easily enough, and she probably just wanted to be left in peace with her two cubs.

“I’ll never forget this moment. He just went ‘Hi, I’m your big brother, and I’ll protect you.’ And that was it. Knight in shining armour.”

“Did he?”

“They were never close as some siblings can be, the age difference played a role, and Cameron being unmanageable for years versus Charlotte being a darling, but mostly when everyone was looking, meant they bickered more than anything. But even now, if someone is even slightly disrespectful of Charlie while Cam is around…” She paused, grinning I mean he knows better, because she can defend herself, but it’s always rather cute to see that instinct kick in!” She paused again, raising her hands in surrender. “I know I said one picture, but I figured it was unfair to show you baby Charlie if you didn’t get a peak of where motherhood really started for me.” She picked up a picture from the top drawer of her bedside table and handed it to Serena. Cameron, Serena supposed, was all bundled up and held very protectively against an even younger Bernie.

“The calm before over two decades worth of storm.”

Serena laughed.

“That bad?”

“Not really. I mean in retrospect it could have been worse, and when I see some of the kids we encounter at work some days I consider myself very lucky. I was raised very strictly, Marcus a little less so but still fairly strict by our generation’s standards, and that made Cameron’s rebellious streak that much more… jarring, I suppose.”

“I refuse to believe you were a model child. Not with your rebellious streak.”

“I never said I was.” Bernie laughed. “With a father in the army and a tomboy tendency the height of my rebellious streaks as a child was climbing trees I wasn’t supposed to.”

“I don’t suppose there are any pictures of that?”

“Afraid not. I’m fairly sure I can dig up one of me with muddy knees and torn up shirt, that would be about the extent of it.”

“Is that what you meant when you said you learnt to sew early?” Serena did remember Bernie mentioning that at some point.

“I learnt to sew before learning to write.”

“That might explain your handwriting!”

“Hey!” Bernie had set the pictures aside and climbed on the bed, silencing Serena with a kiss. “Not everyone can be the perfect little head girl!” She was only teasing, knew there was still pride there.

“I bet you were your year’s head girl’s worse nightmare!” Serena grinned.

“Oh I was, in a way. I was our sport team’s captain, and good at it, so she had to be out in the cold very, very often.”

“Now there’s got to be pictures of that!”

“Grainy newspaper ones at best.” Bernie stole another kiss. “You’ve had your story, can we sleep now?” Bernie’s puppy look was hardly needed as Serena stifled a yawn. She got up to turn off the main light, sliding under the covers.

“Night, darling.”

“Night Serena.” How that damned woman made her name sound like a term of endearment was past Serena’s understanding. Just as she was about to fall asleep, a question came to her.

“You taught your kids to climb trees, didn’t you?”

The only answer she got was her partner’s steady breathing. Bernie had this ability to sleep virtually anywhere, quickly, that Serena envied. She knew it came from years of training, and worked a lot better when Serena was nearby. Bernie had never mentioned insomnia while in Nairobi, but Serena had known even through the grainy skype calls that the dark circles under her eyes weren’t just due to working overtime. But she was back now, safely tucked beside her, home. 

They could weave the stories from their past with those of their upcoming shared future. As long as she could manage to convince Bernie not to teach Guinevere how to climb trees…

  
❄❄❄

Bernie had been unusually quiet as they’d gotten ready for bed, which for Bernie was saying something.

“Something on your mind?” Serena had sat next to her on the bed and ran her hand along her partner’s back, feeling her leaning in her touch. Instead of speaking straight away she passed her the picture she’d prepared for the night. They’d been doing this for a few days already, and it seemed like Bernie was intent on sharing what mattered most rather than go chronologically. Serena could see a younger pair of Wolfe cubs, two figures towering behind them. One of them was Bernie in fatigues, although Serena couldn’t really see much of her with Charlotte standing in front of her. Beside her was her father, the Brigadier, standing tall, his eyes fixed on the objective, looking at her through time and space.

“This picture is... special”. Bernie took a deep breath. "He'd come to greet me at the airport where we'd landed. He'd never done that before, it was quite a way away for him and he believed rather firmly that, in cases like these, spouses and children came first. I never really told him about the many times there was no one.” She ran a hand through her hair, making her fringe fall over her eyes again.

“But anyway, even without his uniform, even aged, the people in my unit, and the few more who'd tagged along on their way home, immediately recognised him. There was something in his eyes when they saluted, even more so when he returned the salute, and in retrospect I should have known then, but I didn't, because he'd brought my kids, and…” It wasn’t common for Bernie to talk uninterrupted about her past, and Serena could tell something was coming and letting Bernie give her some background was her way of helping. 

“Marcus had found some excuse or other, and they just came and hugged me and he'd come at his own pace, with his cane. I remember wondering how long he'd been with the kids for, he rarely used it when he was out for just an hour or two. He'd bought pastries, one of our favourites each, and we went to the park, found an empty picnic table and had them there.” She smiled, almost absent-mindedly. “It was special, the kids could tell and behaved, though they often behaved when my father was there, he was the kind of man who had this... impact on people, you know?" Serena nodded quietly. 

"We were close enough to the swings that we could keep an eye on them, so we let them loose, they were old enough to find their own momentum." Her voice broke, she looked away, squeezing Serena's hand. 

"I think the conversation that followed was the most heartfelt we'd ever had. It was early afternoon, and we knew the kids wouldn't get bored of the swings, not for a while anyway. My father was always... silent, that's how he communicated, that's where I got it from. I wish you could have met him, and my mother.” Bernie smiled, the smile reaching her eyes as she talked further. “She could talk up a storm, moving around the house, with him sitting still and silent in the middle, observing her with a small but utterly devoted smile. He'd have liked you, I'm sure of it." She gulped. 

"Anyway, that conversation. He told me he'd been in pain, for a while and I'd noticed, I'd told him to take care of himself and not to fear asking for help. I knew he wouldn't reach out to me, let alone Marcus, for health related matters, and I trusted our family doctor to point him in the right direction. But my father was the kind to suffer in silence, be it emotionally or physically. When he went to the family doctor, he was sent to have x-rays and the lot, told me of spending a whole day at the clinic closest to his house because the doctors kept sending him here then there like a pinball, but no one told him anything. But he knew, the nicest they were, the worst it would be. He hadn't brought the whole file, I'd have noticed earlier anyway, but he'd asked for a copy of the medical jargon, as he called it. He'd been given what he knew to be an edulcorated version, and as he said he'd never been one for sweets much, but that had still felt rather bitter."

She paused, looking in the distance, trying to gather herself so she could carry on.

"It was cancer, late stages, metastasis everywhere, terminal. The doctor who'd written the report had given him two weeks, and it was dated three weeks before. He said he'd put his affairs in order, although we both knew it was highly unlikely his affairs had ever been anything but in order, and that he'd just fought his way here. That he'd been an overachiever all his life and had no intention of leaving without saying goodbye. The next thing he said..." She bit back a sob, taking a deep breath, eyes closed on unshed tears.

"The next thing he said was to break the family tradition. He'd gestured toward the kids and said 'Don't let him go, Bernie.’" She was crying now. "Every first born male child in the Wolfe family, for generations, hadn't come back from one war or another. He'd buried his older brother, like his father before him and his grandfather before him, and so on and so forth for as long as we could find the Wolfe in the military. I'd been to those graves, every single one of them, the monuments, I'd seen the crosses and medals.” She bit her lip.

“That was part of the reason why my dad only had my two as grandchildren, my brother was 24 when he died. It hurts, sometimes, with every year Cam gets older and further away from the age my brother never managed to get past. But he's safe, he's home, and I'm so very glad he never showed any interest in joining. I don't believe in curses, not really, but he's my child, I'm not taking that chance." She took a deep breath again. 

"It's funny actually, because Cameron loved him. My dad showed him loads of things, and Cameron was older so he has more memories. He's proud of his granddad, for a variety of good reasons. But yeah, that picture was taken at the terminal, my dad asked someone to take a picture of the four of us. It's the last picture I have of him, the only I have of me in fatigues 'fresh' off the plane."

"How far off were the doctors’ diagnoses?" Serena wasn't sure she ought to ask the question, but wanted to give Bernie some time to gather herself, too. She was surprised when Bernie let out a small laugh.

"He died a whole month later, on the same day as my Mum. I think that's what he'd been aiming for, the kids' birthdays were too far and he knew it. He has a grave in the military cemetery, but he's actually buried with my mum. that's what he wanted, from the start. As a military man he'd made sure everything was arranged for his funeral, and my mother was practical enough that she'd prepared things as well. That was the plan. That was their plan. And it worked. Of course it worked, my dad had never been anything but punctual." She paused.

"Still, he hadn't been that sure of making it out that long, of being able to see me come home again, so he'd written letters. One for each of my kids, which they each read and kept, and one for me. He was a man of few words, but it was twelve pages long, twelve pages, front and back of neat rows of his small tidy handwriting. I still have it, I read it again, sometimes, when I need strength."

"Encouragement?"

"Mostly. And telling me he knew I wasn't happy, that he hoped I'd..." She stopped, with another sob, the memory a little too much, Serena holding her close, feeling Bernie's tears fall on her shirt. "That he hoped I'd find someone who loved me as much as I deserved." Her voice broke, but had softened almost to a whisper. She looked up, Serena blurry through the tears ready to resume rolling down her cheeks. 

"You're more than I deserve." She'd whispered, bitten her lip, Serena's hand coming up to cup her cheek and wipe away some of the tears, her own eyes long since reddened. "No, you are." Her voice had broken too, only meaning to distract Bernie from the pain, making her smile her dopey puppy smile through her sadness.

"Not everything has to be a competition." Bernie had whispered the words against her lips but kissed her cheek, resting hers there for a moment.

"Says you!" 

This time Bernie laughed.

"Well now you know who I get the competitiveness from!"

"Hm". She kissed the crook of Bernie's neck, feeling her squirm.

"There's so much more…" She sighed, found Serena’s fingers and tangled their fingers again. “Would you go to their grave, with me, next time?” She was asking softly, unsure, felt Serena nod.

“Of course. I’d love to.”

“My dad said no flowers unless they were for Mum.”

“Not an easy person to find gifts for?”

“Even in death!” She grinned. “Joke’s on him. Succulents aren’t flowers. They rarely ever flower. Charlotte said one of ours was blooming when she went last year, so I’m guessing that was just his plant offering my Mum a flower from beyond the grave.”

“Were they close?”

“In their own way. They’re the kind of couple who understood early enough that they had to be a team. My mother was the youngest of several brothers and could keep the lot in line, loved reminding us all of that. The house was her domain, not out of obligation because she was a woman, but because she’d claimed it as hers. It was hard, when she passed, but that’s when I realised that they’d never stopped being a team.” She tried to wipe some of her tears with the back of her hand. 

“At some point during her illness he must have started doing some little things, like tidying this up and dusting there, because after she passed there was never a speck of dust anywhere, everything was always in order. He’d slowly taken over the things that were draining her energy, so she could enjoy the little things instead. And you remember what I said about timing?” Serena nodded slightly. “She passed away the day after finishing a tricky pair of socks. My dad wore those on tough days. He’d had them on that time…” She gestured toward the picture.

“A remarkable man.”

“Stubborn.”

“So that’s where you got that from too, eh?” Serena teased gently, knowing she could be just as stubborn herself.

“Well, frankly, out of the two of them…” Bernie smiled. “At least they’re in peace now.”

Serena kissed the top of her head and gestured toward the covers, Bernie leaving the picture on her bedside table and turning off the light on her side, Serena doing the same. They met in the middle, not quite ready to part.

“Thanks you, for sharing.” Bernie simply hummed at her words. She’d talked about her father before, brief glimpses into her own childhood, but this was something that ran deeper, and was perhaps that much more important to share. She was the mother she was because of the parents she’d had.

She missed them while knowing that with every passing year they’d have been more baffled at the way the country, the world, seemed to be turning. She was saddened, too, that they’d never know she had found love, wondering what they’d have thought of the woman lying next to her, so full of love she was bursting at the seams. She felt Serena move to find a comfier position, moving in kind to leave a kiss somewhere practical. She aimed for her shoulder, heard Serena giggle and retreated to her own comfy spot. 

They’d found their rhythm, found their comfort, knew that having the other close by was enough, that waking up tangled tended to lead to limbs falling asleep and uncomfortable warmth. In moments like these, Bernie felt that she had, maybe, a better understanding of her parents, of the team they’d become, close without ever breaching into the other’s space without explicit permission. The space between them was a comfort rather than a wall.

❄❄❄

As Serena walked into the bedroom, she saw Bernie, sitting on the bed, head cocked to the side, a smile on her lips. Serena couldn’t see the picture she was looking at, but could tell it came with nice memories attached. Bernie looked up at her, smiling that much more, and handed her the picture. Cameron was blowing candles off a gingerbread… thing, flanked by his younger sister, and an older woman in the background Serena suspected was their paternal grandmother.

“Why biscuits?” Serena’s question made Bernie smile a little further, the explanation rather silly in retrospect.

“They had cakes up until they could let us know they hated them, and then learnt of the existence of biscuits and that you could make them from home.” She laughed in recollection.

“What’s with the colour coding?” The biscuits had Cs iced on them in blue and pink, which made Serena’s brows furrow.

“I’ll let you guess who was in charge of the icing. The kids did the shapes, I did the mixture.” It had been a family recipe, although she wasn’t sure her mother would have approved of the children’s choice of shapes.

“Sounds like good teamwork.”

“She and Marcus had their own biscuits. I got the broken bits, no icing, and the end of the orange juice bottle if there was even any left after Marcus was poured his share.” Bernie’s tone was matter-of-factly rather than bitter.

“She didn’t like you?”

“Not even remotely.”

“How long did you cohabit?” Serena realised that was something Bernie had never really talked about before. Bernie sighed.

“It felt like an eternity. Once her health started really deteriorating it became a problem because I became the only one willing to really… She didn’t want to leave her house, she’d grown up there, had lived there all her life, was sick and feeling miserable about it, and Marcus refused to do anything that didn’t involve forms for homes, to the point where they weren’t speaking when she passed.”

“So she couldn’t stand you but you were her guardian angel?”

“Something like that. I don’t think it really made her change her mind, but in the last months, with Marcus spending less and less time with her, because he had trouble coping and she spent more and more time resting, she kept telling me things: “You know I don’t think you’re good enough for him.”, and so on and so forth. And I was used to it by then, had heard it often enough? One day, she put her hand on mine to stop me from leaving, gently, and added “Frankly you could do better yourself.”” Bernie smiled up at Serena, offering her hands for Serena to help her up. “I’d rather think I have.” Serena set the picture aside and guided her up, sharing a short kiss.

“I’m assuming the icing colour coding disappeared after she passed?”

“Well, no, I mean they do have the same initials, but they got to pick their own colours and experiment. And I got my own biscuits.”

“What colour were those?”

“Marcus generally ended up with the worst colour they’d figured out how to do because he didn’t care, so I’d get the rainbow bits from questionable experiments.”

“Even that young they could see the rainbow in you.”

“I guess so.” She kissed Serena lightly, then lingered.

“Have you stopped that tradition?”

“It sort of faded out in their teens. I mean, past a certain age it starts getting hard to get enough candles in one biscuit.” Bernie’s mock stern reply made Serena laugh. 

“Now I want to see you making a biscuit big enough for your next birthday!”

“Oy! We’re the same age!”

“I know, but I have more discerning tastes!”

“Red velvet cake and wine, classy.” Bernie kissed her again, mostly to distract her from the fact that they should get ready for bed.

“What is your favourite cake, though?” Serena wondered how that hadn’t come up before.

“I’m not picky, if it’s a cake and it literally has my name on it…” Serena laughed, kissing her and tugging her toward their respective pillows. Those had their names on it as well.

❄❄❄

Serena had had a harder day than usual, Bernie noticing the second she’d crossed the threshold. They’d eaten in relative silence, Serena clearly reminiscing, Bernie reluctant to interrupt, only wishing to be a comforting presence, offering to deal with the dishes, offering Serena some quiet and the chance to get an earlier night. The pictures she now kept stashed in her bedside table would have to wait another day, another night. After all, they didn’t have to do it every night, and she would run out eventually. Well, they’d just have to make their own, she supposed.

With that thought dancing at the edge of her mind she put away the last of the dishes, turned off all the lights in her path and changed quickly before joining Serena. The light was off, she wasn’t sure Serena had turned it on at all. From what little moonlight filtered through the curtains, she could tell Serena was curled up, hugging her knees. Bernie couldn’t tell whether her eyes were open or closed, knew there were tears. 

She padded toward the bed softly, hoping not to trip on anything she might have left in the way in the morning, climbing slowly so the mattress’ movement wouldn’t disturb Serena, sitting close. She could feel the sobs now and moved so her arm encircled Serena’s shoulders, holding her close. They didn’t have to talk. Well sometimes they did, but grief was grief and sometimes words were either not enough or too much. Sometimes it was too early still, or too late to matter.

She felt Serena rest against her, the sobs still very much wracking her body. Bernie kissed the top of her head softly, the only part of her she could reach without disturbing their embrace, rewarded by a sniffle. Letting go for a second, she reached for the box of tissues on the bedside table, very nearly toppled it over in an attempt to bring it closer, cursing under her breath. She managed to get a hold of it and of Serena, depositing the precious box in their lap. She started rocking them softly, slowly, hoping it might help the pain ebb away a little faster. She lost track of time, trying to remember if Serena had mentioned anything, an anniversary Bernie might have missed, or whether work had just been the last straw.

“Do you still love me?” She heard Serena speak through her sobs, the question a punch to her throat.

“Wh-?”

“Do you still love me? That’s what she asked.” Serena’s voice was small, like a fading memory coming to the surface, one, one of many she’d bottled up in an effort to be the woman everybody else wanted her to be. Bernie had her own bottles, they were opening them together and some had funny things in them, but Serena’s… most were bitter, the kind that left an aftertaste that made Bernie wonder how she’d have reacted to meeting Adrienne.

“She was al-almost crying, and her lip was wobbling, and she was so…” Bernie held her tighter, helping as she could through the worst of the sobs Serena couldn’t contain. “My little girl. She’d never looked so innocent, Bernie, never-.” Bernie held her even closer. Elinor was, still, an extremely dangerous territory when it came to grief, to how dark Serena’s mind could get.

“We stole it. We stole it from her, in that moment. That’s when she had to choose, to grow before she was ready. Has to be it. She could be difficult before, but-” Serena moved so her forehead rested on Bernie’s shoulder. “So innocent, Bernie. Those words. She meant it, Bernie, she meant it.” Serena moved to face Bernie for the first time since she’d entered the room, eyes rimmed with red, the despair there visible in the semi darkness. 

“She didn’t know, Bernie! She didn’t know!” Serena took a deep, shaky, breath. “What if… what if even in the end…” Violent sobs kept her from finishing her sentence straight away. “What if even then she didn’t know?”

“She did.” Bernie’s voice had cracked, Serena’s love for her daughter was as bright as the young woman had been, and had never faltered. “She did, Serena.” That was all she could say, the only words she could gather. She knew it wasn’t enough, didn’t think it could ever be enough. She wasn’t strong enough to fight against Serena’s demons, she could only help, in her own way.

“It was, it was the day we told her about the divorce. Things were different already, we were already mostly separated, Edward had been sleeping on the couch and making it constantly unusable for a while, but this was… final. And he wasn’t helping.”

Bernie knew that the best option was to let her talk, let her let it all out, the love, the hate, and the despair, gather all of the love, wrap Serena in it, and let everything else ebb away.

“Once… Once he was gone, it was just the two of us, and Elinor stood there, just a few feet away from me. And she asked… she asked as if anything had changed.” Serena’s voice broke again. “She asked me if I stilled loved her. Ever since then I’ve wondered, what had I done to make her doubt that?”

Bernie was tempted to ask how she’d reacted, how it had played out, knew Serena needed time.

“Maybe it was just the divorce, or, or the house, maybe, or all the fights. All through those, not once, I hadn’t cried, but, just… seeing her like that. I started crying and she started crying and she climbed in my lap, and.” Serena paused. “I promised her always. Always, always, always, always, until she fell asleep, until I did. It was us, sleeping on the couch, that night. After that, I’d put little hearts in places, when I could, told her every once and again until she grew to a point where it became too embarrassing for her.” Her voice faded.

“But when I close my eyes, I still see my eight year old little girl looking like her whole world had fallen to pieces, as if adult words were all that was needed.” Serena paused, trying to wipe some of her tears away, leaving space for new ones. “I promised always, so much. But it’s too much, Bernie. Now that she’s gone…” It took a long time for her to speak again, those words still too powerful. “I just don’t know where to put that love, what to do with it, it’s a reminder that I should have given more, and-”

“Serena.” Bernie’s voice was a mere whisper, one hand running through Serena’s hair. “You gave everything you have and more, every minute, every second. She knew.” Bernie knew her words wouldn’t weigh much, knew, too, that Serena needed the reminder, sometimes. “And now you have Guinevere.” She knew how important the little girl would grow to become the moment she’d first heard Serena talk about Greta, about the pregnancy. “It was Jason’s, and Greta’s, choice to give her Elinor as a middle name. You’re already pouring so much love in her universe, Serena.” Bernie’s voice had broken again, memories of Serena holding the baby bringing further tears to her eyes. 

“She’s going to want to hear about her daddy’s cousin one day, you know. That’s where you come in, with all the stories, all the pictures. When you’re ready, when she’s ready, you can bring Elinor to life again, the two of you.” Bernie knew it would still take a very long time, had been trying to convey just this for a while, not quite daring, wasn’t surprised when Serena stiffened but didn’t expect what she had to say.

“The three of us, Bernie. At least the three of us.” She kissed Bernie’s neck, the closest expanse of skin she could manage. “She’d be too young to hold the album, she’d need two great aunties for that.”

“So you just need me as a bookend then.” Bernie was teasing, hoping to make her smile, successfully making her laugh.

“I like that.” She sniffed. “You’re a very pretty bookend.”

“Am I?”

“Hmm.”

“Should us elderly bookends attempt to sleep somewhat horizontally tonight?”

“Hmm.”

Bernie had lost track of the tissue box, had a vague idea where most of the tissues were, cared only about Serena’s embrace, keeping her closer than usual.

“The prettiest bookend.”

❄❄❄

Serena found Bernie with her eyes glued to her phone as she slipped into the bedroom. It was unlike her to spend very long on it, her dislike of most technology showing rather often. She was smiling though, and while she seemed to be aware Serena was in the room she didn’t move until she found what she’d been looking for. It was a picture of Guinevere on the day she was born, held by her mother whose eyes were boring into her daughter’s.

“You remember? The magic there?” She’d angled the screen toward Serena so she could see. “That’s not what I have for tonight though.” Instead of getting up she attempted to stretch all the way to the handle of the bedside table, ending in a rather precarious position that made Serena laugh.

“If you hurt your back doing this I’ll have to give you another back massage.” Serena’s words didn’t really sound like a threat. Bernie looked up, her hair falling over her eyes.

“Are you offering?” She had a sweet smile on but clearly dirtier thoughts.

“The picture?”

“Right, yeah.” With another stretch Bernie managed to reach the one she was after and close the drawer. “There.” She handed the picture to Serena, sitting cross legged on the bed, head cocked to the side, waiting for her to react. It was a much older picture, the woman looked much like Bernie, and at the same time seemed radically different. She was holding a newborn child, and a young boy stood beside the hospital bed.

“Is that you as a baby?”

“It is!” Bernie sounded victorious. It had taken some digging to find it. She didn’t have that many pictures of her mother, her family had never really been into the habit of taking them and this one had, she suspected, been taken by an uncle. Bernie had been a week early, eager to see the world, and her father was still away. “I’ve shown you my cubs, figured I had to share this, too!”

“You were so tiny!”

“I was a bit early.”

“And already very cute. You look like your mum.”

“Thanks.” Bernie smiled. “I mostly got her looks and dad’s character. My dad used to say it was better this way round, if only to stand up for myself in the world but mostly for the looks.”

Serena laughed.

“Thanks for showing me this. You know, it’s funny…” She didn’t finish her sentence, suddenly lost in thought, looking without looking at something far behind Bernie. “I think I have a similar picture, with me on it.”

“That would make sense!” Bernie paused, knowing Serena’s mother was a sensitive subject. “I’d like to see it, if you’d like.”

“I would. It’s just that, in retrospect…” She went quiet again, seemingly going through something in her mind. “I’ll have to do some digging, but after she passed I went through old albums, some of which I’d never seen, or at least don’t remember having seen, and some loose pictures, and there was one... I thought it was a duplicate at the time, but now I’m wondering…”

There was a long pause, Serena looking at Bernie, lost, and suddenly Bernie seemed to connect the dots.

“Whether you might not have a picture of Marjorie?” There was disbelief in her voice

“Possibly.” Serena looked straight at Bernie, crossing her arms in a protective stance, the prospect making her uncomfortable.

“You want to go look now? Are they in the house?”

“In the garage, yes.”

“Let’s go.” Bernie got up.

“You’re in your pyjamas!”

“So are you. That’s why thick comfortable bathrobes are for. Let’s sort this. We can share the result with Jason in the morning if you’re right.” Bernie’s renewed energy made Serena’s head spin.

Serena, organised as she was, located the box fairly easily, opening it for Bernie to get a peak before going to get an album inside the house where she supposed the photograph with her on it featured. The pictures inside the box had been neatly stacked, Bernie presumed there was an estimated time range and started from the most recent, expecting Adrienne to have put most of the pictures following her, second, daughter’s birth in albums. It turned out that many pictures with friends and, she supposed, family members, from the overall resemblance, hadn’t made the albums, but the dress sense gave her a good idea of where she could be in the time-line.

“Found it!” Serena’s voice came from the doorway and Bernie looked up just as she held the very picture she supposed Serena had been meaning to dig up. Serena came to sit on the floor next to her, the cold from the concrete not quite seeping through the bathrobe but the position altogether uncomfortable anyway. With a sigh, Serena showed the picture she knew to be her own.

“You were adorable!”

“But already feisty!”

“Explains the stern look from your mum.”

“That’s most of what I’ve gotten over the years, really.” Serena’s tone had saddened as the memories came back, flooding her. She took the picture Bernie had found and laid it down on the album beside hers. There was no doubt about it, the details weren’t as clear, the picture was almost blurry, but the curtains were different, the bed had a different frame, her mother looked just that much younger, and the baby was still, looked upon with benevolence.

“This has to be Marjorie.” Bernie nodded to Serena statement. “But that doesn’t explain who took it.”

“Maybe someone meant to add it to the adoption file, it’s done sometimes, and this was either a duplicate or-”

“No, it wouldn’t have been returned to the mother, would it?” Bernie nodded again at Serena’s comment. “Then why did my mother still have it? Who had been with her at the time.”

“The father?” Bernie’s question made Serena turn toward her. “If you’re sure it’s not a family member, then that’s a possibility.”

“So she gets pregnant, has the baby, the father takes a picture, and then she gives her daughter up for adoption? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Do we know anything about who the father might be? Maybe he died the next day, maybe-”

“We don’t know anything. That’s one more secret she took to her grave.”

“But at least we have this. You have this. Jason has this.”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything written on the back?” She hadn’t checked before passing the picture over. 

Serena turned it over and almost let it go. “My pride and joy.” It was her mother’s handwriting, she was sure of it. She didn’t need to take her own picture out of the album to know there was nothing behind hers. “Maybe the answer is in here.” Bernie pointed at the stack of pictures. “If you, or Jason, really want to know, maybe the father is in here, maybe-.”

“No. That chapter is closed, it would only bring more pain to Jason. There are enough shadows around his own father without him wanting to dig up a grandfather who’d have done very little other than father the child.” Serena’s tone was cold. That was a chapter of the family’s life that was well and truly closed, a box not to be revisited fondly later on, but left to gather dust amongst the neatly arranged space. Bernie put the pictures back inside as they had been and closed the box, putting it back where it had sat before helping Serena up. Serena had kept the picture on top of the closed album, her eyes clouded with hurtful memories.

“Let’s get back to bed, shall we?” Bernie offered her hand and Serena took it, leaving the album and the lone picture on the coffee table before heading back upstairs, sinking in Bernie’s embrace as they closed their bedroom door behind them. “I’m sorry I brought all this up.”

“Don’t be.” Serena’s voice sounded immensely tired. “You couldn’t have known, and it would have cropped up eventually. Now can I stare at little you a little longer?” She looked up to Bernie’s soft smile who nodded and led her to the bed where the picture still laid, helping her out of her bathrobe in what felt like such a practised domestic movement that it brought tears to Serena’s eyes. Maybe Bernie hadn’t inherited the puppy eyes and smiles from the Wolfe side of the family, after all. Sighing, she left the picture on Bernie’s bedside table and climbed on her side, leaving Bernie to turn off the light.

“Funny how every mother goes through motherhood differently despite it coming from the same pain.” Serena’s voice pierced the darkness and she felt Bernie reaching for her hand.

“We wouldn’t have survived as a species if the pain hadn’t been worth all the joy that follows.” Bernie’s voice was the soft, caring one that never failed to appease Serena.

“I suppose not.” She felt herself drift away, images of her mother dancing behind her eyelids like a kaleidoscope. Bernie squeezed her hand and she smiled in the darkness. After all, that was the message behind what Bernie shared with her, the pains and joys that had paved her existence. She’d asked for it, and Bernie had delivered it in her own way. 

She had lost count of the number of nights Bernie had offered those pieces of herself, had lost count of everything she’d learnt. Maybe Bernie had been right, maybe she hadn’t had all the pieces of the puzzle, but she didn’t love her any less for every sharp angle and soft nuances she uncovered. If anything it strengthened the comfort and trust she had in her partner, not because she had kept all those memories to herself but because she was ready to bare it all, vulnerable under Serena’s scrutiny. 

Time hadn’t been kind to either of them, leaving its share of scars, physical and psychological alike, a constellation in a sky they’d all but vowed to assemble together. It was their story, and in times like these, at the edge of sleep, Serena could almost see them with not-so-little Guinevere asking how they got together. That was a story for another time, one they were still writing, side by side, finishing each other’s sentences. There were more chapters to come still.


End file.
